The two fugitives resumed their journey, reached Rheims at nightfall, and asked the first person they met in the city the way to the house of the priest Pantellus. It was Sunday, and as they went through the great square on their way to the house, the bell sounded for matins. When they entered the priest’s dwelling, Leon disclosed to the good man the name and rank of Attalus. “My dream is made out,” said the overjoyed father; “for this very night in my sleep I saw two doves fly towards my threshold, and perch upon my hand, and one of them was a white one and the other black.” (The reader will bear in mind that Leon was a negro). “God forgive us,” replied the slave, “for not paying due observance to his holy day.” (On Sunday no one took nourishment till after mass.) “But we entreat you give us something to eat, for this is the fourth time we have seen the sun rise without breaking our fast.”
The priest hid the two young men, gave them some bread steeped in wine, and went to matins.
The barbarian, by-and-by, appeared on the scene, still in hot and eager pursuit of his slaves; but he had to go away again without them, for the priest deliberately put him on a wrong scent, out of his great friendship for Bishop Gregory. They then sat down to the uninterrupted enjoyment of a good meal; and they remained two days with the good priest until they had quite recruited their strength, and were enabled to pursue their journey towards their own home, which they reached without any further trouble. The bishop, transported with joy at the sight of them, fell weeping on the neck of Attalus: and as a special mark of his gratitude to the preserver of his nephew, he gave Leon and all his family their freedom, with as much land as sufficed for their subsistence for the rest of their days. (_Histoire Ecclésiastique des Francs_, bk. iii., ch. xv., translated by M. Henri Bordier.)
Attalus afterwards became Count of Autun.
After the assassination of William Longsword, Duke of Normandy, near Pecquigny, on the Somme, his infant son Richard was called to the succession. Louis d’Outre-Mer, who had fixed his eyes on the throne, contrived to get the young prince in his power, and to have him sent to Laon, under pretence of giving him an education suited to his rank. The arch-plotter placed the child under the most rigorous espionage, and treated him with great cruelty. He even threatened to hamstring his innocent victim by fire, a frightful torture which the policy of the Middle Ages did not disdain to use as a means for depriving princes of their thrones.